A Cameronella Story
by Bloody Koalas
Summary: In which -1- Cameron is the fairest in the land, and -2- Chase wishes that he could slip under the radar.
1. Cameron Almighty

**A/N: Marie told me recently that she needed a drabble like this. So…here it is. Possibilities for continuation.**

**Disclaimer: We all know that I, Hadley, am not the owner of House, M.D. You ****_other_**** authors, though…I'm not so sure.**

It was a sunny day, as usual. Actually, the sun was radiantly gleaming throughout the whole kingdom, the expected weather. There was never a dreary day in Plainsboropia.

She catapulted out of bed cheerily, the good dreams she always had long forgotten. Before exiting the perfect room, Cameron glanced over at her still-sleeping-dreamily bed partner—Chase. He was known far and wide as The Fool, and she only had sex with him to make him feel better. Just another dept to society repaid by the Super Woman.

Cameron walked daintily out of her perfect house and onto the perfect street with the perfect asphalt crunching under her perfect shoes. _Perfect!_ She thought. _Now I can go back to work and save trillions of lives. _She entered the tall, somewhat blocky building that read 'Gregory-Plainsboro Puppy Hospital'. Cameron smiled a dentist-screaming sugar-flavored smile. It would be another great day at work!

Upon a fashionable entrance to the hospital, Cameron was greeted with adoring fans. "Oh, Dr. Cameron! I'm a HUGE fan of your work!"

Cameron would just toss her silky-smooth hair over her shoulders. "It's nothing. I'm just doing my job." Of course, her fans would swoon at the words she spoke. She quietly stepped over the fallen bodies and headed over to her office—The Colored Room. It was a beautifully and incredibly untastefully decorated room looking remarkably similar to the non-existent Diagnostics Room, but with inches of glitter on the walls.

But wait! There were more who wished to greet the Ultimate Supreme Goddess of the Universe. Cameron whistled in a Mary-Sue type way and instantly an assortment of rainbow-colored puppies and kittens were clamoring to touch her. She petted each one cheerfully, happily noting that most of them were already coated in sugar, just the way she liked her small fluffy animals. The day couldn't get better.

Cameron was wrong. Hearing the familiar sound of her superior-but-not-quite-because-women-are-equal-to-men popping a very large amount of pills, she positioned herself vulnerably against the wall and looked dreamily at the ceiling. Instantly, as if pulled by some outside author-related force, the dean of the hospital, Dr. Gregory House, pulled Cameron into his arms and began to kiss her unmercifully. She kissed back with a fire burning like a thousand grammatical errors.

* * *

And then she woke up. "Damn!" screamed Cameron, as she sat up in bed. "And I was just at the good part."


	2. Of Pink Painted Walls

**A/N: There actually _is_ a reason behind me writing this, but it's very long and anticlimactic, so I'll just let you stick to the story. Here.**

**Disclaimer: Yup. I do. I own House. I'm Katie Jacobs AND David Shore! Because, you know, if I wasn't both of them at the exact same time, I couldn't own House.**

* * *

Robert Chase walked fairly cheerfully into the conference room that sunny Princeton morning, eager to get to work and leave his tiny, cramped apartment. Yet, even the pleasant doctor was no match for the horrors of The Clichés that awaited him inside!

"Hello, my little balls of sunshine! Good morning ducklings!" House shouted joyfully into the room.

Chase's mouth dropped. "D-did he just call us…ducklings? Is this a joke? Am I missing something?" Everything he'd ever considered unmovable was sure to fall apart now.

Cameron beamed, straightening her hair and giving House a wink. "Hey, secret love of mine!"

Foreman put his arm protectively around Cameron's shoulder. "Not today, you two! You know how Lisa gets."

_Lisa?? Does he mean Cuddy? Wait…Cameron just referred to House as…'her love'…and he's not fighting back!_

"H-house…I'm going to…getsomecoffee." With that, the young Australian darted out of the conference room and into an eerily bright hallway.

* * *

"Wilson! Wilson!"

"No, you _cannot _have more Vicodin. I _just_ refilled the crate, House."

"It's Chase."

"Oh. Sorry, force of habit. So, wombat, what do you want?"

_Wombat?! What the hell?_ "Uh, nothing."

Wilson peered up at Chase, mouth set in a firm line. It screamed, "Get out, then!" But of course, Wilson couldn't be mean, not in any universe; so his scream stayed silent. However, it didn't matter what Wilson's silent signals were saying; Chase was focused on something else: Wilson's hair.

Normally, the oncologist's hair was neat and orderly, and it was combed back very nicely. Not today. His hair looked like he had stood on a Kansas prairie in the middle of the century's biggest tornado. Like his hair had a mind of it's own. Like his head was covered in a light, cocoa-dusted fluff.

Creeeepy. But Chase couldn't get caught up too long; he had a mission. To figure out what the heck was going on at PPTH.

"No, wait." He started cautiously. "Has House…have you noticed anything different lately?"

Wilson twirled his pen. "No, not really. Except you—you're a lot smarter than I remember."

Chase stood back, greatly irritated and trying not to show it. No way this was Wilson. No way he would _ever_ say something like that. Besides, it wasn't Chase who was different; it was everyone else. Right?

"Yeah, okay, Dr. Wilson. I've got to go now…g'day." At that, Chase slammed the breaks. _No. No! I didn't just say that! That didn't come out of my mouth. I've never said stuff like that, and I never will. I _did not_ say g'day! I can't have!_

It was then Chase realized that whatever was happening to him was far beyond what his mind could comprehend. He ran into the hallway and sunk into a seat in the clinic, sadly running his fingers through his hair.

Suddenly, a woman ran up to Chase, throwing down a patient's file with considerable force. It wasn't Cuddy. Actually, he had no idea _who_ it was. The woman was petite, with shockingly long red hair, nearly down to her ankles. It was braided.

Her eyes pierced his thoughts, grabbing them and shaking them upside down. She had purple and green irises, and little flecks of gold coloring were sprinkled throughout. Her cheeks were unhealthily pink, and she looked like a freakishly athletic runway model. No wonder people always said 'be happy the way you are'. Perfection was scary.

Finally, Chase snapped back into reality. "Hello, Miss…" he took a moment to read her nametag. "…Miss Mary-Sue. Can I help you?"

She cocked her head with a scary grace. "Yes! Take _this_, Robert."

Chase felt sick. "Dr. Chase." He reached out for the file tentatively and opened it. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "If this is a clinic patient, you need to call the family. This guy's been dead for over an hour."

The nurse smiled. "Thank-you, doctor! I'll be sure to pass a good word with Doctor House, _if you know what I mean._" She winked unnaturally.

"No, I don't. Goodbye." And with that, Chase ran out of the clinic, into Cuddy's office. Maybe he could get some answers out of her.

* * *

Chase walked valiantly in, pushing open the doors of her office. "Dr. Cuddy, I—" He pushed back in horror. Cuddy was there; to be sure…but with her was House, painting her walls a brilliant pink.

"Hello, Aussie. Doesn't this look nice? Gregory knows that I can make him do anything because he secretly loves me!

House smiled. "Yeah! Isn't it great? I get the boss and your girlfriend, too!" Chase collapsed onto the ground.

* * *

…And then he woke up. Chase spent the next several hours clutching the blankets surrounding him in fear. "…I'm sorry for waking you...I needed to hear someone's voice."

The calm on the other end of his phone reassured him. "Just go to sleep. We've got a big case in the morning."

The end.


	3. Pink Painted Walls: Alternate Ending!

**A/N: Thank you, _Userunfriendly_, for ranting with me and prompting this! Okay, I'm just going post the same chapter with a different ending. So, you all can just skip to the NEWNEWNEW part if you've already read the rest. If not...read! **

**Disclaimer: It's awfully flattering that _you_ should think that I own House; but, unfortunately, I do not. Tragic, huh?**

* * *

Robert Chase walked fairly cheerfully into the conference room that sunny Princeton morning, eager to get to work and leave his tiny, cramped apartment. Yet, even the pleasant doctor was no match for the horrors of The Clichés that awaited him inside!

"Hello, my little balls of sunshine! Good morning ducklings!" House shouted joyfully into the room.

Chase's mouth dropped. "D-did he just call us…ducklings? Is this a joke? Am I missing something?" Everything he'd ever considered unmovable was sure to fall apart now.

Cameron beamed, straightening her hair and giving House a wink. "Hey, secret love of mine!"

Foreman put his arm protectively around Cameron's shoulder. "Not today, you two! You know how Lisa gets."

_Lisa?? Does he mean Cuddy? Wait…Cameron just referred to House as…'her love'…and he's not fighting back!_

"H-house…I'm going to…getsomecoffee." With that, the young Australian darted out of the conference room and into an eerily bright hallway.

* * *

"Wilson! Wilson!"

"No, you _cannot _have more Vicodin. I _just_ refilled the crate, House."

"It's Chase."

"Oh. Sorry, force of habit. So, wombat, what do you want?"

_Wombat?! What the hell?_ "Uh, nothing."

Wilson peered up at Chase, mouth set in a firm line. It screamed, "Get out, then!" But of course, Wilson couldn't be mean, not in any universe; so his scream stayed silent. However, it didn't matter what Wilson's silent signals were saying; Chase was focused on something else: Wilson's hair.

Normally, the oncologist's hair was neat and orderly, and it was combed back very nicely. Not today. His hair looked like he had stood on a Kansas prairie in the middle of the century's biggest tornado. Like his hair had a mind of it's own. Like his head was covered in a light, cocoa-dusted fluff.

Creeeepy. But Chase couldn't get caught up too long; he had a mission. To figure out what the heck was going on at PPTH.

"No, wait." He started cautiously. "Has House…have you noticed anything different lately?"

Wilson twirled his pen. "No, not really. Except you—you're a lot smarter than I remember."

Chase stood back, greatly irritated and trying not to show it. No way this was Wilson. No way he would _ever_ say something like that. Besides, it wasn't Chase who was different; it was everyone else. Right?

"Yeah, okay, Dr. Wilson. I've got to go now…g'day." At that, Chase slammed the breaks. _No. No! I didn't just say that! That didn't come out of my mouth. I've never said stuff like that, and I never will. I _did not_ say g'day! I can't have!_

It was then Chase realized that whatever was happening to him was far beyond what his mind could comprehend. He ran into the hallway and sunk into a seat in the clinic, sadly running his fingers through his hair.

Suddenly, a woman ran up to Chase, throwing down a patient's file with considerable force. It wasn't Cuddy. Actually, he had no idea _who_ it was. The woman was petite, with shockingly long red hair, nearly down to her ankles. It was braided.

Her eyes pierced his thoughts, grabbing them and shaking them upside down. She had purple and green irises, and little flecks of gold coloring were sprinkled throughout. Her cheeks were unhealthily pink, and she looked like a freakishly athletic runway model. No wonder people always said 'be happy the way you are'. Perfection was scary.

Finally, Chase snapped back into reality. "Hello, Miss…" he took a moment to read her nametag. "…Miss Mary-Sue. Can I help you?"

She cocked her head with a scary grace. "Yes! Take _this_, Robbie. Or do you prefer Robert?"

Chase felt sick. "Dr. Chase." He reached out for the file tentatively and opened it. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "If this is a clinic patient, you need to call the family. This guy's been dead for over an hour."

The nurse smiled. "Thank-you, doctor! I'll be sure to pass a good word with Doctor House, _if you know what I mean._" She winked unnaturally.

"No, I don't. Goodbye." And with that, Chase ran out of the clinic, into Cuddy's office. Maybe he could get some answers out of her.

* * *

**(vaguely) NEWNEWNEWNEWNEWNEWNEW**

Chase walked valiantly in, pushing open the doors of her office. "Dr. Cuddy, I—" He pushed back in horror. Cuddy was there; to be sure…but with her was House, painting her walls a brilliant pink.

"Hello, Aussie. Doesn't this look nice? Gregory knows that I can make him do anything because he secretly loves me!

House smiled. "Yeah! Isn't it great? I get the boss and your girlfriend, too!" Chase collapsed onto the ground.

Wilson strolled casually into the room, munching a donut. He dusted the sugar off onto Chase's still (breathing) body. Cuddy's head peaked. "Heeeeey…get out of my office. You're interrupting my boyfriend's work time."

House flicked some pink paint off his hands and onto Chase's face. "Who said I was yours, Cuddles?"

"Yeah!" Wilson piped up. "He's with—"

House grinned. "I'm with _Chase_, aren't I, wombat?" Chase's eyes darkened. _…what sort of world have I passed on to?_

Wilson shook his head. "But…but House! I thought…"

House rolled his eyes. "None of your whining; we'll be a threesome."

* * *

The next thing Chase became aware of was his heart monitor, beeping steadily and at a relatively annoying pitch. It took him several minutes to fight off the urge to keep his eyes closed, but upon opening them, he was met with shaky vision and three very familiar doctors.

"W-what ha—" Chase began, but Cuddy cut him off.

"You're in the ICU. Apparently, you had a panic attack."

Chase's eyes glowed with fear. House took his chance, smiling wolfishly. "And all I did this time was ask you for a diagnosis! God, Chase, it's not like I asked you to marry me."

Reinstated horror. Chase shut his eyes as tightly as he could while still remaining inconspicuous. Wilson began gently. "Chase, you've been in this room for over 4 hours, and most of that time you've been asleep." His eyes opened again. _So…? _"And…well, Chase…you _talk_ in your sleep."

Cuddy smiled weakly. "Okay, _out_. You've got a case, House." She walked slowly out the door, glancing at Wilson before she left. It was the make-sure-House-gets-the-hell-outta-here look. CuddyFace No. 24.

Wilson gave Chase a pitying smile before his emotions could take over. _No. I didn't. I didn't just _tell_ them what I was thinking. Oh…how am I ever going to live this down?_

Finally, House limped out the door. Chase was relieved—there was the last of him. Suddenly, his wafting voice was cast over the hospital. "Good NIGHT, Robbie!"

* * *

"It wasn't _that_ bad, Chase."

Moaning. "Yesss, it was! He's sure to tell Cameron and Foreman, too."

"No, he won't. Don't worry, I know House. He'll keep it to himself and taunt you whenever you're having a bad day, but he won't tell the team."

"I guess. I should be going now. Thanks, Wilson."

"'Night…wombat." And the phone line clicked.


End file.
